When my babies were small, and slept in their own beds.
Last night I couldn’t sleep. That’s not totally unusual. I’m a woman of a certain age— there are many things that keep me awake these days. However, last night it was the most horrible of thoughts, the darkest of the dark. Yesterday I read in our local paper that a vibrant young girl, who graduated from the high school that my kids have attended, was killed in a scooter accident overseas, over spring break this week. I knew the girl. Not well, but I knew her face, remembered her personality. She was a baby, just having started college— so much life ahead of her. She was doing something joyful and fun, with her sister and friends. She was having an adventure… All I could think, as I lay in bed last night, the dark pushing in around me, was that her parents were probably on their way to get their baby’s body, and bring her home. They were going to comfort their other daughter, who lost her sister, far far from home. All of the scariest things came in on me, and I could not close my eyes.
Any parent reading that news post would have felt something. How could we not? The cliché: It is the worst thing I could imagine, is so true. What parent doesn’t feel that way? But as I lay there, all I could think of was my son. He is on spring break in China. He’s in some adventurous place, and there is no way to reach him. All I could think of was my daughter, living so far away, each day away from our care. It scared the hell out of me, as images of those other parents raged in my head. Their pain was palpable as I lay there worrying about my boy, my girl, both of whom are so far away. I am in NO way comparing my anxiety to their pain, their loss— but I could not stop thinking about them, their horror and grief, and I could not help but send up a fervent plea that my own children are safe.
I have written plenty about missing my kids, wishing they were living closer (until they are actually living here)… but ultimately I am proud of their choices and excited for their adventures and journeys. But does that always make for peaceful nights on my pillow? No. In a logical mind space, I understand that anything could happen right here at home. I know that bad things can happen when they are near me, at their colleges, or far away; I have lived my entire life knowing that loss lives right around the corner. However, every time I shut my eyes last night, I could only imagine those parents: facing this enormous, catastrophic loss— so far from their girls.
Any parent who doesn’t say that losing a child is their greatest fear, the worst of the worst, is missing a chip. They may not all lose sleep over other parents’ losses, but we all have our demons. As another mother, how can I not read that story and look to my own children— count their toes and fingers, make sure they are sleeping soundly. Though all three are nearly grown up now, there is still no sweeter thing than seeing them asleep in their beds, chests rising and falling, that familiar smell of each of them around me. That is when I sleep soundly. In moments like last night, the fact that their beds are thousands of miles away keeps me awake. It makes my heart race and my brain skip. It makes me touch wood and try to think of of positive things to push the monsters away. Last night, I couldn’t sleep thinking of another mother’s loss. I stayed awake far too late, saying silent prayers for her, for her family, and for my own kids… so far away.
Other posts: Ode To Girl Interrupted, This Mother’s Heart Stretches and Grows, Ode To The Middle Man, Sirens In Israel Make Me Grind My Teeth
What keeps you awake at night? Do you worry about your kids, or are you good at managing those demons? Leave a comment, hit the Like—I’ll sleep better. Join me on Tales From the Motherland on Facebook.
TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND 
I felt this same way the day of the Connecticut shooting. I was completely rattled and I mourn(ed) for the parents as much as I did the children who were taken. It was the first time a tragedy of that magnitude had happened since I became a parent myself, and that day I experienced the fear you take on when you bring small people into the world. I sometimes toss and turn thinking about the world we brought C into. It’s an ugly place at times. By best hope for my husband and me is that we curate the world we expose her to and raise her to be the kind of person who makes it better.
LikeLike
Well said Emily! It’s so true that we see the world through entirely different eyes, once we become parents. I love the idea of “curating” the world we expose them too… lovely! Thanks for reading, and sharing. Much appreciated!
LikeLike
This event has weighed heavily on me. Sad for the family beyond words. It also brings a parent’s greatest fear up to the surface.
LikeLike
Yes, so very sad! In any event, where a child is lost… but when it hits close to home, it brings it all to our door. Thanks for reading, and sharing.
LikeLike
I think you’ve captured the feeling of parents so well, way better than my grandmother had done when she lived with me and smacked me upside the head for returning home at 7pm.
It is such a warm fuzzy to know your family is sleeping in their own beds, and even though none of you have ever shared a bed for funsies since forever it’s nice to have their presence about, and the way you wrote about it really had me catch my breath.
Something so simple can be as humbling to me as watching the stars in a clear night away from the city.
Thanks for sharing (:
Sarah
LikeLike
Sarah, Ducky, thanks for reading this and sharing your thoughts. It breaks my hear to think of you being treated the way you have written about. No child deserves that. As parents, we can fall short in so many ways… but that is not one of the ways that is tolerable. I appreciate your thoughtful comments. xo
LikeLike
Ah, all’s well in the Duck’s kingdom. Given a choice she still wouldn’t change a thing in her life, it all contributes further to my alter ego. Ego aside, your words and thoughts are appreciated (: I’ve learned since that nobody magically grows into this new species I call a parent, they’re just me, couple decades older haha.
LikeLike
Not necessarily… you can be whoever you want to be, and bring your children whatever childhood you think they should have. Most of us do the best with what we have… you have a different tool box kiddo.
LikeLike
Thoughts like that often keep me up at night, too. The only thing that quells them is knowing that my sons are safe inside the home with me, asleep in their beds. But it won’t be long until, like yours, they are no longer under my roof, and I will then have that extra grain of worry. And I suspect it never goes away, no matter how old they are.
LikeLike
I think it gets a little easier… a little. It happens in bits and pieces, like pregnancy prepares us, just little, sleepless nights as parents. They leave us for school, then they go to sleep overs, and then they begin driving… soon they are living away from us. But no, Carrie, I don’t think it ever goes away. Some days, it’s just hard. Thanks for all of your insightful comments; they’re much appreciated.
LikeLike
Always my pleasure.
LikeLike
And mine as well darlin’. 😉
LikeLike
Very sad news. Today I read about the 25 year old woman killed in Afghanistan. It is every parents’ fear and knowing people, including family who’ve lost children, I know they never recover. It doesn’t get easier as the kids get older either.
LikeLike
Maybe because I read that story too… I was sober all day. She reminded me of my daughter, in looks and description. Hard things to read!!
LikeLike
Your post makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff; and the bottom is pulling at me.
The letting go is never easy or complete. I claim to never worry about things but even though my kids are in their 30’s, I still fall into that vortex every once in a while.
Great post TFTM!
Red
LikeLike
Thanks Red! Much appreciated. I am always glad for the support of my blogging friends (and neighbors). I’m not sure that we ever lose that fear, do we? Those of us who love our children and are close to them… it is a powerful bond. The deepest of the deep. Thanks again for taking the time. Much appreciated.
LikeLike
I had that gut-check feeling the on 9/11 when I wondered what to say to my children. Now I share your feelings of concern about my grandchildren. I take comfort knowing their mother, my daughter, is a wonderful mother and she has surrounding her children will so much love. I hope you sleep well tonight knowing, as a mother, you have done the same for your children. – Mike
LikeLike
Thanks Mike. You are such a sweet heart. Your kind words are much appreciated… I’m beat, so sleep should come easily tonight. I hope. 😉 Thanks for all of the support.
LikeLike
Wow. That’s a pretty heavy thought to be entertaining late. Stuff like that gets in my head at night too. The dark pushing in around you is exactly what it feels like too. It sucks that stuff like that has to happen. My uncle lost his son at 30 and the guy completely fell apart..
LikeLike
My dad was killed at 32. I often think, now, how devastating it must have been for my grandmother. For years, I only thought about how devastating it was for me. Heavy indeed. My head is a deep, dark place. Thanks for checking in Adam. Much appreciated.
LikeLike
Oh my god, I didn’t know about that until now. What do I say? I’m truly sorry. I can’t even imagine having to live through it. I always wish you the best, and you know I love you..
I’m trying my best to keep up with reading, but I’m finding it increasingly difficult with other commitments I have at the moment. I enjoy your work, and I try to always read you when I’m on here.
LikeLike
Take a deep breath Adam. Best thing to say is: I’m sorry, I didn’t know. No worries, friend. I’ve written a lot about it, so assumed you did know, but it’s not a big deal that you didn’t. It was a long time ago. It’s all overshadowed by the fact that you just said you love me… makes this old girl’s heart skip a beat. Even if I know you only have eyes for Becca, I love being that older, auntie blog love. Remember, I have all of my fingers, and I’m prone to sarcastic, dark humor. 😉 And I like emoticons. Despite what you hipsters say… I will not be peer pressured into dropping them. Except on Le Clown’s page. wink wink All’s good Adam. I wish you the best too, and love you to pieces. You have a great big, good heart. (Now, take the day, drop and catch up on my posts…)
LikeLike
Ok, I’m on it, Auntie 😉
LikeLike
This is every mother’s greatest fear. My kids both went to school in England and I spent a lot of sleepless nights tossing and turning and worrying- always thinking the worst thoughts. Ugh. I hate that anxiety. I know you know all about it. I feel so sad for those parents. I honestly don’t know how you move on from that kind of pain and loss. I don’t. I look at people who go through that kind of thing and know that they are made of different stuff because I wouldn’t survive it. I count my blessings that my children are well and happy. My heart is pounding from even thinking these thoughts. 😦
LikeLike
My heart pounds thinking about them too… me thinks I will stop reading comments to my blog, long before bedtime tonight. :-p I’m not sure how you move on either, but my guess is that none of us knows this unless we are tested. I hope neither of us ever has to answer that question. Touch wood. xo
LikeLike
Ugh. What a nightmare. Reading your post, just for this little while, I am so glad my son is still 10 and still at that stage of needing Mom (not 100% of the time, thankfully). He’s still young enough that even though I grant him lots of age appropriate freedoms, he’s still under the watchful eye of a responsible adult for most of his day. I am so sorry to hear of this death and the incredible loss her family is dealing with. I hope you can sleep tonight.
LikeLike
It is such a short time that our kids are little and with us… some days, it doesn’t seem that way, but when they’re gone… it is truly a blink. Enjoy the good days. 🙂 Thanks for sharing Mariner.
LikeLike
We’ve had a couple of the kids acquaintances from their high school die (both murdered when they went off in college) not to mention that one of my kids graduated from Va Tech the semester before the mass shooting and she knew some of the victims. It was just awful. But I have to tell you I felt even worse for Sandy Hook and more tortured because I have a grandson, and it took all the self-control I could muster not to beg my daughther to never allow him to go to kindergarten ever again–or leave the house for that matter. All these children (big and small) are all our children and I think we are supposed to lose sleep when horrible things happen to them all over the world and in every inner city (remember Hadiya Pendleton shot to death in Chicago after returning from participating in President Obama’s inaguration–I couldn’t sleep for a couple of days), so that we can reason together and work to make a safer environment for all of them.
LikeLike
l could not agree with you Eleanor! I only wish that the dialogue would be louder and more consistent… not ebb and flow from disaster to disaster. Each of those events kept me awake, as it did so many parents…. but then we all go slowly back to our corners and hope that the bogey man stays far away. Thanks for reading and sharing. I always appreciate your support and wisdom!
LikeLike
I actually wanted to comment on that beautiful picture of you with your children. I hope you have that poster-size in your house somewhere. It is just so pretty!
LikeLike
Thanks! I don’t, but maybe I will. 😉 thanks for the kind words.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND and commented:
This is a hard day, and the irony of Facebook sends a chill up my spine. This morning, I heard the news that a friend from high school lost his daughter in a car accident two days ago. M and I have not been close friends for years; we weren’t close friends in high school. I didn’t know his daughter. But M is an amazing person who just lost his child. He and I grew up in a very small, unique place, and this past fall when we all reunited, and hung out again, spending time with M was a highlight. He’s an incredibly funny guy–– he was in high school, and he is still. M’s also thoughtful, kind and loves his family. I know that, because we talked about our kids and spouses; it’s what you do at reunions.
We talked about other things, but that is what haunts me today. M loves his family, and two days ago it was broken. I imagine he’s feeling broken right now, and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. This kind of loss is just as inconceivable and terrifying, as it was when I first wrote this pot. All day, the reality of it interrupted my other thoughts. All day, a piece of my heart was grieving… for M, for his family, for the the way the world just shifted, for his beautiful 19 year-old daughter that is gone, and for all the reasons I wrote this piece… exactly four years ago.
A lot’s happened since I wrote this post. All three of my kids have gone off to college, two have graduated, and one has her own baby now. I can no longer slip in and make sure they are sleeping soundly. Most days, I don’t know what they’re doing, at any given moment. A lot has changed in four years. But what hasn’t changed is that when I hear news like this, and I’m reminded that the boogey man is still out there, nothing has changed at all. It’s 12:30am and I can’t sleep. My head is full of the horrific news that a dear man, has lost his child. Facebook has an uncanny way of pointing out that life is not fair, and while it goes on, some days there is nothing you can do but count your blessings and hold someone else in your heart.
LikeLike